


Jazz and Spirites

by Aliriali



Category: Persona 5
Genre: After Royal, Future Fic, Mentions of alcohol, Spies & Secret Agents, platonic or romantic, whichever floats your boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliriali/pseuds/Aliriali
Summary: Two years pass and under unique circumstances the two rivals find themselves as associates once more, but missions are never so simple when navigating them through unresolved pasts and ambiguous alliances.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Jazz and Spirites

A night bar was serenaded by the sweet murmurs of a piano and sax, while it’s clientele sipped drinks that ignited their stomachs and loosened their lips. The double bass pounding in chests as though a designated heartbeat, quickening with their alcohol-induced rush. Populated as it was, the night’s youth meant most of the occupants still had their wits and the talk was hushed. Occasional laughter would spill out above the ambiance before tranquility was restored. As was customary, the lighting was dim, glass bottles with bulbs and circular strings of lights cascading down the walls provided one with just enough vision to make their way around and see those with whom they shared their drinks. Most of the bar’s furniture consisted of a glossed dark wood, but cushions and curtains were a bold red. The people among the decorum were dressed as though a part of it. Dark of color yet elegant of taste. Some would douse their palates with alcohol until the sheen of social class and pride was cleansed off. Prestige and dignity discarded, diluted like their drinks. The ice would inevitably melt. 

Accompanied by the other, the two newcomers were dressed for the scene after preparing the lines for the part, but it was their first time on stage. The hard floors in combination with the steps of their shoes had made their arrival disclosed when traveling to the designated table. Two-seater, tight to the wall, obscured but not isolated. Suited well for prying on their fellow dwellers.

The dark-haired young man appeared both banal and of intrigue. Elegant of dress aside from his hair, a mop of black curls protruding at a multitude of angles. It could be mistaken for being uncombed when, despite prior encouragement, the strands refused to lay flat. An animated mane as opposed to his counterpart whose brown hair prevailed above his own in being contained. A few strands graced his face while the humble lighting seemed drawn to reflect off of him, catching the highlights of his hair. The brunette had melded with the atmosphere, greeting the hostess with a socialite’s grin and kind platitudes, while the messy-haired guest sat hunched over and mute at the table’s opposite. Bad of posture and bad of manners, he rested his elbow on the table as to prop his head up by his hand.

When the attendant departed, the grin fell into a scowl. “I don’t recall your spine being broken.”

He hissed at his companion beneath his breath while looking over him with considered disgrace.

The black-haired patron’s brown eyes looked languidly across the table before responding in equal volume, “It’s a devastating injury I received during my time as an ally of justice.” Smiling, self-contented with his rebuttal. 

“Akira.” The inflection of his name alone was enough to signal he’d taken a step too far. The brunette’s patience lasted far fewer time than was usual. To expose his true nature, the smothered aggression, the ignition of his hostility. His genial voice twisting to an aberrant abuse of his vocal cords. There was always something sharp and volatile beneath the still waves, that was just the kind of person Goro was. For these depths to surface on their own accord was an honor reserved for his partner alone. “Sit up.”

The bar’s calm wasn’t worth disrupting on account of his provoking, so Akira accommodated his posture as was necessary. Something unpleasant had come over the person at his adjacent, more so than was customary, able to be felt in the pit of his stomach as though the soured spirit was his own. Even if they had come together, he’d be better off procuring the reason being from another patron than betting on his two cents. If he had to wager it seemed to be adjacent with the context of their mission. Outside of that, not much else could be said. He put his hands on the table and overlapped them with each other as the band concluded another piece. 

“To think, something like that would even matter.”

“It _all_ matters.” He emphasized as his suave exterior emerged. His slim, gloved fingers were turning the menu pages, holding it both with grace and a manner of aversion by engaging with it on two fingers alone. “ If memory serves, I wouldn’t consider espionage your strong suit.” 

“I don’t remember it working out well for you either.” Akira scoffed, his voice smothered beneath waves of music as the musicians struck their instruments in encore.

“Without the metaverse to protect you, you’ll just have to depend on me, won’t you? My condolences, must be _terrible_.”

Akira absentmindedly tapped the menu atop the table, the metal rim causing a slight metallic ring. Staring at the words without reading them, his shoulders raised. “Could be worse.” 

If Akira could complain it would be that his partner could ease up on the dramatics. Sure, he was locked in an exposed position to someone who had tried for his death in the past, maybe that was reason enough to be concerned, but the fear never became palpable no matter how much that reality was reiterated. He became too comfortable with bracing his back against the other that if his support wanted to take a knife to it, he’d had already. In the case that was his true intentions, Akira would think him better than touting them. 

The query was still not to be seen and with nothing to do, Akira indulged in the atmosphere. It wasn’t a cafe, but the beating shake of the mixer was comparable to the ground of beans. Similarly, there was also a weariness in both coffee shops and bars, tiredness from the day’s beginning and here, its end. It was but another way to relieve yourself from the exhaustion for a time by drink. His familiarity with the establishment wasn’t only in it’s comparison to a place he favored, there was a memory unbarred by the clink of glasses, the climate of the evening. The presence of his company. Some two years ago…

“Miss the old place?” He remembered it with such vigor, such detail, a visual assembling in his mind’s eye as though a puzzle. As it’s pieces conjoined, there was a warmth but a melancholy kindled by a longing for a time past. It was all gone now. Well, almost.

“No,” Goro said abruptly, showing no notion of touching down on the same sentiment. “Jazz Jin was a hole in the wall.” 

Akira’s eyebrow peaked, “Remembered the name though, huh?”

“One of the very few memories I don’t habitually desire to forget.” Catching the sudden glint in Akira’s eye, Goro was quick on the draw, pulling out harsh words like a weapon “ _However,_ that doesn’t make it any less worthless.” He wanted to reassure him that the memory of their prior hangout hadn’t connotated their exchange to be anything more than business. The amiability of the past was not of connection, just of circumstance, of survival. To suggest, even at length, anything developed along the lines of friendship was nothing but naive. Goro knew that was never either of their intentions. 

Akira wore an almost indistinguishable frown and prepared to insinuate that perhaps the memory hadn’t been pure babble when his table mates eyes became incessantly engaged with something behind him. In the midst of twisting his neck to observe the object of interest, the pointed tip of a hard shoe dug into his vulnerable shin below the table.

“Don’t turn around.” Goro disconnected from whatever had him so enthralled. The tenacious stare now a delicate gaze of admiration toward the decor, looking at everything but nothing in particular. When he wafted those aimless eyes to Akira they seemed ignited. Soundlessly, his mouth structured the words, “He’s here.”

“And...how am I supposed to see?” With his complaint dressed as a question, he crossed his arms. His bowed shoulders, shrinking him further in height, shrugged. As if resigning to this preordained fate he stated, “I guess the only solution is to sit in your lap.”

“No.” He retorted in an all too rosy voice that only raised virulent. The sweeter wine often tallied a higher alcohol count.

While Goro was flaunting his impatience of jests, a roaring dialogue broke out at Akira’s back. Voices were numerous but the one above it all was deep and rough, equally vulgar. Coincidentally, it came from the place that he was discouraged from peeping. Trying as he might, Akira, leaned against the chair back and tested the peripherals of his sight, to no results besides a dull ache. 

“What now?” Akira leaned in over the table, to procure a subtle volume that could still be distinguished atop the volume of music and conversation. 

Goro leaned in ever so slightly in turn but was nowhere near as planted on the tabletop. His eyes moved back and forth, scanning, while Akira’s view was an advantageous angle to watch his better-situated tablemate’s expression for variation. Found it he did, but not in acknowledgment of their prey or the conception of a scheme, but in a budding fury that would likely go undetected in anyone that wasn’t as familiar with its physical symptoms as he. The way his brow creased, his nose crinkled, something had taken a shot at his shell and forced his attention to divert to avoid further strikes. 

“He’s inebriated.” Goro’s voice was brimming with displeasure, ripe to burst. 

Akira, ignorant of what had provoked him, was getting the sense that it had proceeded annoyance and touched on more delicate ground. He’d seen his temper spark, the dependable enmity that was his mien, but the bar tonight had festered past even that and implanted something in him internally, left him seething. Yet the reaction was not one of heat, but a chill that frosted him frozen. Inactive. His pupils were stagnant tops of full glasses, a deep red that appeared as bottomless as it did still. It invoked a desire to abandon the scene in Akira. Both to end any particular disturbance it had cast on his partner and to avoid being caught as a casualty in the cold himself. While the majority of his impulse could be credited toward his empathy, the guise of self-preservation was easier to indulge, either way, he found the excuse needed to begin rising from his chair.

“In thaaaat case why don't we-”

Goro steel gripped his arm and yanked him back down to his seat, the legs screeched against the flooring as he collided back on top of them, hard. 

“What _are_ you doing?”

“I _was_ leaving.” Akira countered, “A wasted man sounds like a waste of time.”

“Your ignorance is truly astounding. Or are you just lazy?”

Akira exhaled at Goro’s slight and pressed his lips together while mulling over the situation. He took a few strands of his black hair and pivoted it around his pointer finger. Akira knew he wasn’t one for the mental gymnastics required to displace Goro from his goal. His knowledge of the metaverse was the singular selling point that had attributed to his induction on this mission, mind games, deception, or even social awareness was beyond his intelligence. Just because he could parse the feeling of something having gone array didn't mean it was of his ability to come up with a wise decision on how to fix it. Goro was right, the situation was too delicate, and there was no metaverse to act as his barrier if he were to make rash decisions. If there was one thing he could do, however, it was be forward.

“I can see it on your face, you’re uncomfortable.”

“You don’t get to decide when I am or am not okay.”

“If memory serves, I wouldn’t consider you figuring that out yourself your strong suit.”

The two shared gazes, Akira in stubborn opposition and Goro in anger that had been ever slightly caught off guard. He felt the strength of Goro’s hold on his arm tighten before releasing entirely, tossing the arm he had just held away as if it appalled him.

“This isn’t about me.” Goro finally replied, “We have a job to perform, nothing else matters.”

Perhaps Goro’s words were to be taken to heart for there was something they were here to do, that they alone could accomplish. When failure wasn’t an option there were no getaways, no coffee breaks, just the rocky road ahead and the hope that you were prepared for the bumps. Knowing this truth didn’t discourage Akira from prioritizing things outside of garnering a victory. He wouldn’t attain one goal unless all the boxes could be filled, all the things he felt important, rectified. It was all useless otherwise. It didn’t matter what others' motivations were, they were not his own. He felt the lingerings of ardor fill the crevices in his chest, a recovery of a part of himself he thought he retired with the Phantom Thieves. It was called: Defiance.

“We’re staying.” 

But could this grand return truly withstand the test of the one who worked to suppress it the most?

“Ya, ya.” He’d need more time to prepare for such a battle.

With the night dragging on, the two thought it best to order drinks so as to not be hit with the suspicion of “loitering.” They’d both gone quiet after Akira’s statement, for better or worse. The silence of lulled conversation didn’t discomfort him, however, even if the cause was of his overstepping. With Goro, the quiet was never silent, and Akira hoped in small part that he was considering the words he hated to hear. 

The band was playing a softer tune, with long, deep notes performed by the sax, accompanied by a lax piano melody. The bass hit a subtle chord every so often that could be felt more so than heard. As pleasant a track it was, it made Akira’s eyelid feel heavy. If only he hadn't been discouraged from ordering something with a bit of a kick. He was watching the ice cubes in his drink when Goro’s reflection on his glass fluctuated. He looked up to where the real Goro was seated. His eyes were closed and he was hunched over the table in the same manner that he had come for Akira about, an elbow on the table with his head relaxing on his hand. He could see the hair framing his face and stretching below his chin sway like he was caught in a slight breeze. It didn't take long to notice his entire frame was moving, an inconsiderable swing left and right, at intervals that complimented the timing of the music. His expression wasn’t joyous as he indulged in the melody, but it was neither negative. It was an expression that relayed no information, no intent, nor emotion, and somehow that in itself said everything. It was serene in its nullity, not despite it.

It was from such a display that Akira thought:

The ice would inevitably melt.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a small portion of a longer idea I had, I wanted to test the waters with this concept. With this one, I was focusing more on visuals and small conversations than the idea as a whole, but I'm definitely interested in starting it from the beginning and making a whole concise story! For now, I was just entranced by the atmosphere of a fancy bar... Sorry if it's a bit unfocused. Thank you for reading!


End file.
